


Catch Me a Catch

by ami_ven



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: mcsheplets, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 21:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4802960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s no such thing as soul-mates… right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch Me a Catch

**Author's Note:**

> written for LJ community "mcsheplets" prompt #067 "matchmaking"

On P9X-8827, the last requirement to securing a trade agreement was that each member of the team visit the local wise-woman, called the matchmaker. She wasn’t a _Fiddler on the Roof_ -type, who decreed local marriages, but a kind of relationship-specific fortune teller, who read people’s palms and told them exactly the sort of person they were supposed to fall in love with.

“I feel I should tell you that I don’t believe in any of this hooey,” said Rodney, as he sat cross-legged on the floor of the matchmaker’s tent.

The old woman regarded him levelly. “Your beliefs are not required, Dr. McKay,” she said, in a raspy voice. “It is my power that allows me to do this, not your willingness to accept it.”

“Just so we’re clear,” said Rodney, and held out his hand to her.

Her hands were warm but dry, as she slid her fingers along his palm. She frowned, expression deepening until Rodney blurted, “What?”

“Why have they sent you to me, child?” she asked, confused. “You do not need me to tell you what you already know. Your soul has already met its match and it is content.”

“Content?” Rodney repeated. “My _soul-mate_?”

“It is written in every line of your hand,” said the matchmaker. “I was called to this work when I was still a youth, and never have I seen a bond so deep and strong.”

“There’s no bond,” said Rodney. “I’m not married. I’m not even dating anyone.”

“Hands do not lie, Dr. McKay,” she said. “The match is made. Your soul knows what is its own.”

“Who is it, then?” he demanded. “My so-called soul-mate?”

“I cannot see names or faces, only impressions, emotions.” She closed her eyes, and didn’t see Rodney rolling his. “You know the man who is your soul-mate, child, and yet you do not know him. Can you think of no one in your life with whom you could share such a connection? No one to whom you would willingly share all that you are?”

_John_ , thought Rodney, at once, then immediately pushed the thought away. There were no such thing as ‘soul-mates’ and even if there were, John wouldn’t be his.

“I can see his strength,” said the matchmaker, “but he also draws strength from you. And yet, he shows you his very heart.”

Rodney thought, involuntarily, about visiting John in the infirmary, when he’d thought the colonel was unconscious, until John spotted him and his whole face lit up with his smile. He thought of all the things he knew about John that no one else did, thought of how John kept up a careful image of control and confidence that he didn’t always continue when they were alone, thought of how he felt when John was in danger— not more, maybe, but different than he did with anyone else.

The matchmaker turned his hand over in hers and patted the back of it with her own. “Our lives in this place are so very short,” she said.

Rodney took a slow breath and let it out, suddenly angry at himself. “There is no scientific evidence there _is_ a soul, let alone a soul-mate. But I—” even when he was angry, Rodney remembered Teyla’s bantos-rod lessons on off-world manners. “I thank you for your time.”

The old woman smiled. “Good fortune to you, Dr. McKay.”

Rodney nodded and left the tent.

“Hey, what’d the tea leaves tell you?” John asked, grinning.

“You know I don’t believe in any of that hooey,” Rodney scoffed.

Sheppard opened his mouth, probably to ask if ‘hooey’ was a technical term, when the matchmaker called, “Colonel Sheppard?”

“Destiny awaits,” said Sheppard, grinning, and ducked into the tent. He wasn’t smiling when he came out, holding his mirrored sunglasses and putting them on immediately.

Rodney had told himself he wasn’t going to say anything, wasn’t going to ask, but he found himself rising from his seat around the village fire and laying a hand on John’s arm. “Are you okay? She didn’t tell you that you were going to die, did she?”

John let out a huff of laughter. “Wrong kind of fortune teller, Rodney,” he said, and walked off.

By some kind of unspoken agreement, they never talked about it afterward, although Rodney did learn that Ronon’s supposed soul-mate had been the fiancé he lost on Sateda, and that Teyla and Kanaan’s bond was knotted and worn but stronger for it, some kind of metaphor for their relationship.

Rodney tried not to even think about it, until of course, he had no choice.

Their mission had gone fairly typically wrong, with Teyla and Ronon outside on patrol, and Rodney and John trapped inside an Ancient lab about to self-destruct— except that this one added a device that had looked like the Control Chair until it clamped a metal band around John’s wrist the moment he sat down.

“Sheppard!” yelled Rodney, scrambling over to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m just stuck,” John said. “It’s not a Control Chair, it’s… some kind of diagnostic. Medical, maybe.”

“And the self-destruct is because?” Rodney asked, bending to examine the band holding John’s wrist. They couldn’t cut Ancient metal alloys with the gear they had, so he would have to either pry it open or convince it to let go. “Are you dying and it wants to put you out of your misery?”

John shook his head. “No, it’s… I’m incomplete, somehow. Something to do with Ascension. Like, if I know I’m going to die, my life will flash before my eyes and I can figure out enough stuff to let me Ascend.”

“What!?” Rodney yelped. “No, no, no— you can’t _Ascend_ , Sheppard! You aren’t Ancient, you aren’t ready, it’ll _kill you_!”

John put his hand on Rodney’s shoulder, making him look up. “The countdown is speeding up, McKay. You’d better get out of here.”

“Like hell,” Rodney growled, and bent down to work again.

“Rodney, please,” said John, fingers tightening in the fabric of his jacket. “Maybe I can do it, maybe I can Ascend. But I won’t be able to concentrate if I don’t know you’re safe.”

“And you think I’ll be safe if you’re _dead_?” Rodney countered. “Shut up and let me work.”

“McKay… _Rodney_ …” John sighed. “Do you remember that gypsy matchmaker from P9X-8827?”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say ‘gypsy’ anymore,” said Rodney. “It’s offensive.”

“You would know,” John said, but his voice was off. “Anyway, she told me I’d already found my soul’s match, and that life was too short not to make the most of it. I thought she was crazy, but she was right.”

Rodney closed his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be short if you just help me get you out of here.”

“Rodney…”

“We’ll find her, okay? If— _when_ — we get back to Atlantis, I’ll help you find your soul-mate, Sheppard, and—”

“I don’t have to find my soul-mate, Rodney,” said John, softly. “He’s right here. Now, go, _please_.”

“Like hell,” Rodney muttered again, and kissed him, hard.

The metal band snapped open, and the self-destruct alarm stopped mid-blare.

“I— Huh,” he said.

John grinned, and kissed him back.

THE END


End file.
